Resurrection 12

Resurrection

Part 12

Posted: October 27, 2006
Title: Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse

Summary: Things begin to change in Imladris.

*****

Winter was drawing to a close and the high king’s party departed the Hidden Valley, returning to their homes in the west. Erestor was sad to see Galdor go; they had grown very close since his arrival. He had a new, good friend, one he could always count upon.

He knew war was coming, and it filled him with dread. Yet, what choice was there? Sauron would not stop until he conquered and destroyed everything in his path. It was up to the Elves and the Men of Númenor to stop him.

As the months wore on, he watched Lindir and Glorfindel grow closer by the day. It was no longer a secret that they were lovers; in fact, Lindir had moved out of his own chambers and into Glorfindel’s. How had it happened? How had what he had once hoped would be his slip through his fingers and into the arms of one of his dearest friends? What was it that Lindir had that he lacked?

He hid his feelings well, so well that no one in Imladris, to his knowledge, suspected them, not even Glorfindel. He resigned himself to being the Elda’s friend, nothing more, and focused his efforts on keeping the bond of friendship between them; at least he had that.

To his surprise, he was spending more and more time with Gildor. The elf’s good cheer and playful nature lightened his too often serious spirit. As he placed the last entry in the ledger and blew upon the ink to dry it, he saw his friend’s form fill the doorway. Erestor smiled as he looked up at Gildor, who casually leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Have we finished for the day?” Gildor asked, a smile curving his lips.

“Aye, just,” Erestor answered, making sure the ink was dry before closing the ledger.

“We have been invited to a picnic, in the southern meadow.”

“A picnic? In the dead of Rhîw?”

“It is not the dead of Rhîw, you curmudgeon, it is the dawning of Echuir. The flowers are beginning to emerge from blankets of snow and Anor is lighting and warming the sky. If it is not too cold, we can watch Ithil as she arrives.” He smiled at his friend. “Come, I will gather hot mulled wine, warm, fresh-baked bread, and dried meats and cheeses. It will be a pleasant diversion from such serious work.”

Erestor looked at Gildor with some skepticism, then rose from his chair. “I must change into my riding clothes first.”

“Well then be quick about it, Master Erestor, the days are yet short…”

Erestor rounded his desk and passed Gildor in the doorway. “I shall meet you at the stables.” He walked a short distance down the hallway, and then turned. “Who invited us on this picnic?”

Gildor paused on his way to the kitchens. “Glorfindel and Lindir, who else?”

Erestor hoped his feelings were not readily apparent on his face. “Of course,” he murmured, and then turned back toward the staircase.

Gildor furrowed his brow, and then shrugged, continuing toward the kitchen, curious as to what was wrong with his good friend.

* * * *

Erestor checked himself in the mirror. As fruitless as it was, he could not resist the compulsion to make himself as attractive as possible for Glorfindel. He wore black velvet breeches that fit tight for riding, tall, black leather boots, a white undershirt and black velvet tunic with silver detailing. His dark cloak completed the ensemble, and he wondered if he really did not look as if he were attending a funeral rather than a picnic. Pulling on his gloves, he departed his bedchamber and made his way to the stables.

As he entered, he found Gildor strapping on his quiver. Glorfindel and Lindir were standing close together, kissing sweetly and caressing one another’s faces. Only two horses were prepared, Glorfindel’s stallion and Gildor’s large gelding. Lindir’s mount and Erestor’s own were sleepily munching hay.

“We will only take two horses,” Gildor said as he noted the quizzical look upon Erestor’s face. “It is cold and riding together will make the journey more pleasant.”

“Very well,” Erestor answered.

“We are so glad you could come with us, Erestor,” Lindir said with a broad smile. “I have been telling Gildor that you work entirely too hard.”

“It was kind of the two of you to invite me, Lindir,” Erestor said softly. “Thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary, my friend,” Glorfindel answered. “We always enjoy your company.”

Erestor nodded and moved toward Gildor’s horse, finding it difficult to be around Glorfindel when he was so affectionately holding Lindir. He cursed the fact that he did not ask who invited them before agreeing to come, then realized that there was no excuse or way he could have avoided this situation without being obvious.

“Up we go, my friend,” Gildor said, as he boosted Erestor up on his gelding’s back. He mounted behind him, and handed Erestor their foodstuffs. “You are in charge of not dropping the food.”

“I think I can manage that,” Erestor answered, then he looked down at Gildor’s arm as it encircled his waist protectively.

“Now do not run off without us,” Gildor said to Glorfindel, as the Elda mounted behind his lover. “You two have the wine.”

Lindir laughed. “So mistrustful,” he teased.

“Not mistrustful, just wise. I have known him longer than you, you know.” He winked at Lindir, who laughed in response.

“Always quick to slander me, are you not?” Glorfindel asked with a raised eyebrow.

“’Tis not slander, ‘tis only an honest account of your . . . tendencies,” Erestor countered, surprising himself.

Glorfindel laughed aloud. “Now there is the Erestor I know and love. I have missed that sharp wit. Come, follow close…” He squeezed his stallion’s flanks and the horse left the barn at a gallop.

Gildor chuckled and murmured into Erestor’s ear. “Well done, my friend, well done.” He then followed suit and they galloped out of the barn and into the waning afternoon sun.

* * * *

They found a large, smooth rock that had been warmed by Anor’s rays, and spread a blanket upon it. There they lie in the sun, eating the food that Gildor had gathered and drinking the mulled wine. Were it not for how Erestor felt about Glorfindel, it would have been an altogether pleasant afternoon. It was difficult, however, to see Glorfindel and Lindir together; their affection for one another was obvious.

What Erestor did not see, but Gildor did, were the stolen glances Glorfindel cast Erestor’s way before the Elda returned his attention to his young lover. This situation troubled Gildor. He loved each of them; all three were his dear friends and to know that someone at some point was going to end up with a broken heart pained him.

Anor was slowly setting and Ithil gave chase, her silver visage just visible over the mountains to the east. Lindir decided to walk in the woods while Glorfindel checked on their horses, and Gildor remained with Erestor, lying beside his friend in the waning light. They could hear wolves howling in the distance, and Gildor reassured Erestor that beasts of Eru’s creation would not harm an elf.

“Why do they cry?” Erestor asked.

“They mourn,” Gildor answered. “Perhaps one of them has succumbed.”

“It sounds so sad,” Erestor murmured.

“As it should. The loss of a loved one is cause for sadness.”

* * * *

Lindir walked into the stand of trees not too far from their picnic spot. It had been an uncomfortable afternoon, despite good intentions. Erestor had difficulty with his and Glorfindel’s relationship, and he was afraid he knew why.

He heard a branch snap off to his right and he turned to see a female wolf, cowering by a bush. He turned slowly and spoke to her, reassuring her as he approached. She was wounded.

“You are injured,” he said quietly, holding out his hands. “I shall not harm you,”

A foul stench filled his nostrils and his heart stopped. He knew that smell; he had smelled it before – at Ost-in-Edhil. “Warg,” he whispered as the wolf growled, and he turned slowly to see the large beast standing behind him. It snarled, its jaws opening and revealing yellow teeth marked with fresh blood – the wolf’s blood. He slowly began to back away, his mind racing. He could not outrun it – he had to climb into the nearest tree.

The warg crouched and he turned, running as fast as his legs would carry him as he cried out for help.

Gildor and Erestor both sat bolt upright upon hearing Lindir’s cry. Gildor grabbed his bow and quiver as he barked, “Stay here!” Then he leapt off the rock and ran through the snow, toward the sound of Lindir’s voice.

Erestor took to his feet and called for Glorfindel, who soon galloped by on his stallion. He tossed the warrior’s sword to him, then leapt off the rock and followed at a run. He heard a heartbreaking cry of pain; it was a sound that haunted his memories, and sometimes his nightmares. “No, sweet Elbereth, no…” he breathed as he ran faster. “Lindir!” he cried. “We are coming!”

Lindir leapt into the air, catching a low hanging branch, and began to swing up when the beast’s jaws closed on his leg. He cried out as it pulled him from the tree and violently threw him to the ground. He kicked with his free leg, hitting the beast in the snout, and it growled, pinning him to the ground with one of its large paws.

Gildor arrived first, followed closely by Glorfindel. He fired two arrows, striking the beast in the neck and forcing it to release its hold on Lindir’s shoulder. Glorfindel’s stallion skidded to a halt in the snow and the Elda leapt from his back, falling upon the warg and driving his sword deep into its back.

Erestor came up behind Gildor and saw the wounded she-wolf, then saw Lindir. He heard another growl and turned to see a second warg. He quickly grabbed a large, fallen branch and rammed it into the beast’s open jaws as it advanced upon him. “Gildor!” he shouted, and the warrior turned, firing another two arrows, hitting the beast in the chest and felling it instantly. Gildor hurried to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Erestor nodded, his gaze fixed on Lindir who lay in the snow, bleeding badly. Glorfindel knelt beside him, tearing his tunic to use as bandages to stop the bleeding.

“Stay here, and this time, I mean it,” Gildor said, his hands upon Erestor’s shoulders. Erestor nodded and Gildor called for his horse.

“Sparrow?” Glorfindel called softly as he began bandaging Lindir’s wounds. “Come, sparrow, open your eyes and look at me.”

Erestor knelt beside Glorfindel and put pressure upon the wounds as the Elda tied the makeshift bandages tight.

“No, no, no… Not him,” Glorfindel murmured. “You cannot have him! You owe me this!” he growled.

Erestor furrowed his brow, unsure whom Glorfindel was talking to when he remembered the first thing Glorfindel had ever said to him – ‘he calls not you…’ “Oh, gods, no; sweet Elbereth no,” he murmured. “Please, Lindir, stay with us, my friend!” he cried. He felt Gildor’s hand on his shoulder.

“Get on the horse now, Erestor. We have to leave this place right now.” Gildor shook his friend gently. “Erestor! Now! On the horse!”

Erestor left Lindir and mounted Gildor’s horse as he watched Gildor lift Lindir and hand him to Glorfindel once the Elda mounted his stallion.

“Wait! The wolf!” Erestor cried. “They will come for her!”

“It cannot be helped,” Gildor said as he turned his horse. To his surprise, Erestor struggled against him.

“We have to help her… Let me down!”

“Stay here, I will get her,” Gildor said.

Erestor watched Glorfindel’s stallion as it ran through the meadow, its hooves kicking up a blinding cloud of white behind it. Gildor returned with the wounded wolf and placed the animal across Erestor’s lap.

“Hold her close, she will not struggle.” Gildor mounted behind Erestor, and they galloped out of the meadow, the sound of wargs echoing in the distance.

* * * *

Glorfindel kicked in the door to the healer’s chamber, carrying Lindir, who was still bleeding profusely. Nestagar took one look at the injured elf and ran out of the chamber to find Lord Elrond; meanwhile, the Chief Healer began inspecting Lindir’s wounds.

Erestor and Gildor arrived in the healing house; Gildor carried the wounded wolf and Erestor followed close behind. Erestor watched as Gildor laid the she-wolf on some rags on the floor and gathered materials to cleanse her wounds.

He knelt beside her, cleansing the bite marks and checking for injuries that were more serious. “Both of her back legs are broken,” he said softly. “Inside that drawer you will find splints and linen to wrap them.” Erestor found the materials and handed them to Gildor. “Now go and see if Glorfindel needs you. I will be right there.”

Erestor nodded and entered the room next door, where Elrond and his healer furiously worked to save Lindir.

*****

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